13 July 2018 (Friday) - Mega Road Trip (Day One)


There is a chap on my Facebook list (I have absolutely no idea who he is) who had posted a link to Facebook this morning. Having paid out good money to find out if he was descended from Vikings, it turns out the people who took his money were making it all up.
Surely it doesn’t take a genius to realise that anyone alive today is descended from someone who was alive in Viking times. And surely it doesn’t take a genius to realise that the historical record is so sketchy that your ancestors of a thousand years ago could have been farmers, blacksmiths, the local tribe leader or the village idiot. At this remove in time pretty much no one except the Royal Family knows which of their antecedents were what back in the day. I can trace my family name back to 1760. That is *far* more than most people can do, but not even a quarter of the distance in time needed to see who was a rampaging Viking and who was cowering  in the mire.
Mind you all the time people are daft enough to pay to find out if they are descended from Vikings, other people will take their money.

I took the dogs round the park for a walk. Again we went clockwise (unlike our usual route) as I had a plan that going this way would be easier to divert Treacle away from the foul mire she wallowed in yesterday. It was a plan which worked. Instead of rolling in stagnant muck she was fussed by allotment-keepers; not that she accepted the fuss. She ran in terror as she so often does.
The local allotments always amaze me. Judging by the smell of the place I would assume you have to be a fan of the “herbal cigarettes” to be allowed in to the place. And for all that I have heard (from several sources) that there is a waiting list of years to get an allotment, there seems to be a *lot* of pitches there which are seriously neglected with weeds three feet high. Presumably because the keepers of those plots are ripped to the tits on whatever drugs it is that they are so blatantly smoking?
We walked on through the park and back through Bowen’s Field. As we walked a young mother asked if her toddler could stroke the dogs. The toddler seemed happy dabbing at the pups, but was totally confused when both dogs started licking his chops. As was the mother. I explained that was how dogs kiss, but I’m not sure she understood.

Once home I packed my gear for the weekend. Usually after a walk both dogs go straight to sleep; this morning they wouldn’t leave me alone. Do they know they are going on a little holiday of their own?
I watched a couple of episodes of “Trailer Park Boys” then got the dogs and their weekend gear together and we went out.
Firstly we went to see "Daddy’s Little Angel TM". We took the hounds for a little walk; "Stormageddon - Bringer of Destruction TM" came on his bike. He’s getting good on his bike; he only crashed into his mother once and only fell off twice. The dogs had a good spuddle in the river, and once back at the "Daddy’s Little Angel TM"–arium we realised she’d lost the keys to her flat. Fortunately a neighbour had found them, and with the river water washed from the dogs we all had blue raspberry ice pops.
Treacle seemed settled fighting with her brother Pogo, so I left her there and took Fudge round to "My Boy TM" where Lacey took command of him.

I came home, did the last of the packing, and once "er indoors TM" was home we awaited the arrival of Nick and Sarah. They soon arrived and we set off to the docks. We got a few hundred yards down the road, then had to turn around. There was a rather serious accident by B&Q.
We were only delayed by minutes, and soon we were at the ferry terminal in Dover. Have you ever been to the ferry terminal in Dover? I hadn’t before. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was expecting more. I’ve seen airport terminals, and the terminals of the Channel Tunnel. The ferry terminal had a Burger King, a WH Smiths and a closed bureau de change.
We had a Burger King dinner whilst waiting for our ferry (which was delayed by an hour). Once aboard the ferry we made ourselves comfortable and scoffed cake and custard and drank coffee and played pontoon until the ferry arrived in Dunkirk.

We drove through the night, singing along to the album “That’s What I Call Dad Rock”; two hundred miles after leaving home we arrived at our hotel in Charleroi. By the time we’d had a shower and unpacked I turned the bedside light out at three o’clock…


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